214 PABTKIDGE. 



satisfied. Unlike most pets, he died a natural death on the 

 1st. of January, 1843.' 



Bishop Stanley writes, 'We are not indeed without instances 

 of wild Turkeys at this day in our own country, and a 

 curious anecdote has reached us of a friendship taking place 

 between a flock of these birds and a Partridge. It occurred 

 at Tyninghame, in Scotland, where there is a breed of Turkeys 

 which never enter into the poultry-house or yard, but roost 

 in the trees, and live chiefly on beech-mast and anything else 

 they can pick up, though they are tame enough to come about 

 the house to be fed in the time of frost and snow. About 

 eight or ten years ago, a cock Partridge, full grown, suddenly 

 joined himself to a flock of these Turkeys, and remained with 

 them constantly during the whole summer, autumn, and 

 winter: at night he slept under the trees in which they 

 roosted; in the day he fed with them, and was not the least 

 frightened or disturbed by people walking among them. He 

 took great liberties with the old Turkey cock; when he saw 

 him going to pick up a worm or any seed, he used to run 

 under him between his legs and snatch it out of his mouth, 

 the Turkey cock never resenting the indignity. Early in the 

 spring he left them, as it was supposed to find himself a 

 mate for the pairing-season, but in the beginning of autumn 

 he rejoined his old friends, and continued with them as 

 formerly until the next pairing-time, when lie again disappeared, 

 but returned no more, having probably been killed.' 



He adds 'In a gentleman's family one was reared which 

 became so familiar, that it would attend the parlour at 

 breakfast and other times, and would afterwards stretch itself 

 before the fire, seeming to enjoy the warmth, as if it were 

 its natural bask on a sunny bank. The dogs of the house 

 never molested it, but unfortunately it one day fell under the 

 paws of a strange cat, and was killed.' The hen Partridge, 

 which alone sits, displays great pertinacity in keeping on her 

 nest, and offers a bold resistance to any feathered plunderers; 

 but if quietly approached, will suffer herself sometimes to 

 be touched, and even to be removed with the eggs, which 

 she will continue to sit upon and will hatch; but then, with 

 her brood, she will naturally endeavour to return to the 

 fields. The young, if approached, will sometimes lie close, 

 'with listening ears and watchful eyes,' but if the intruder 

 comes too near, will start off with a faint cry. 



In winter they sometimes pack together in large companies 



